March 2008

A bunch of things have collided together lately and prodded me into thinking more about the statement, “You’re not a mother; you wouldn’t understand”. I read it recently in a blog posting and I read it in a friend’s LJ entry and I’ve read variations of it, over the past many years, both online and off.

And, now that I am a mother, I know it’s totally a false statement.

Being a mother does not make you special. It does not make you different. It does not make you anything other than whatever you choose to let it make you. It does not suddenly make you smarter or prettier or wiser or more valid or more worthy. It does not make you more female or more nurturing or more loving or more patient. It doesn’t make you more responsible or give you all the answers.

I think the only universal is that it does make you more tired.

“Mother” applies to biological women who give birth, of course, but it’s also applied to biological women who adopt. It even extends to non-biological-women who adopt. It can be applied as a noun OR a verb. It can be applied to men, too. Right there, we’ve established that “being a mother” is not easily identified.

And if we use it as a verb – the action of “mothering” someone or something – we’re opening up a whole new envelope of goodness.

Every family is different. Every personality is different. Every mother is different. And every child is different.

So “mothering” in my household is not the same as “mothering” in your household.

Mothering can be hard. It can also be really easy. It can be instinctual or learned. It can be a big deal or a small deal. It can be a primary focus or a second-thought. It can be studied and read about and observed. It can seem magical. It can seem like pure drudgery. It can feel right or wrong or just plain ugly.

Before we adopted the kids, I had a good grasp of what “mothering” was going to mean in my world and, for the most part, my perceptions were correct. Like everything else in life, reality is just a matter of doing your research and visualizing and asking questions and keeping your eyes open.

And I think it does everyone a disservice to make “mothering” an exclusive club that you must experience in order to understand.

Everyone knows – or should know – that children are a gamble. There is no guarantee of temperament, attitude, height, weight, intelligence, gender, sleeping-habits, vegetable-eating, sanity, health, or any of the ‘standard features’ one expects from a child. There are birth defects and illnesses and genetic problems and, as most people know, much of the “problems” are the (bad) luck of the draw.

What you get is.. what you get.

And what you get, ultimately, will dictate the kind of parent you will be. The kind of mothering experience you’ll have will completely depend on how “lucky” you were – in ways you cannot control.

Even when you adopt a child, there are no guarantees. You know their gender and their appearance but.. what will come next is a complete surprise to everyone. Nature versus Nurture and all that.

I won’t disagree that, until you’ve lived through something day and night, 24/7, you can’t fully understand something on a visceral level. But your stressors and mine are two different things. What you find challenging may be easy for me. What you find easy may make me want to rend my own flesh. Your life education and experience is different from mine….

Do you know what it’s like to be me, the mother? No, because you don’t know what it’s like to be ME, in general. That’s just the way the world works.

I believe – truly – that the only time one can use the “you’re not a mother, you wouldn’t understand” line is if you make it read something like this:

You’re not a[n adoptive] mother [named Violet who has three kids and lives in my house with my husband and who has the family history, physical history, emotional history, chemical history, educational background, life experiences, memory of that day in 1980 when that kid was mean to me, ate a bagel for breakfast, once broke her leg falling down the stairs, fears (insert big list here) and loves (insert bigger list here) and once had an argument in the middle of a bookstore, experienced childhood in a particular location and at a particular time...] and so, y’know, you wouldn’t understand.

I have to stop now. I’m getting all ranty.

Today I know that I cannot control the ocean tides. I can only go with the flow… When I struggle and try to organize the Atlantic to my specifications, I sink. If I flail and thrash and growl and grumble, I go under. But if I let go and float, I am borne aloft. -Marie Stilkind

Coffee left me alone today – he’s gone to work – and, as always, I am struggling to organize the Atlantic to my specifications.

Must remember to flow.. flow.. flow…

Or, at least, not drown in the damned ocean.

Impatience is a sign of hurrying; hurrying is a sign of worrying; worrying is a sign of fear; and fear is a sign, Violet, that someone has temporarily forgotten that it’s never too late to change their thoughts and therefore their “things.” And for these reasons, time will forever be on their side.

Glad we could straighten that out -
The Universe

Someone needs to tell the Easter Bunny to come in the AFTERNOON so that the kids do not need to bang on the bedroom door at ungodly hours to inform the parents that, yes, indeed, the EASTER BUNNY WAS HERE! THE EASTER BUNNY WAS HERE!

Yesterday we took the kids for a wander around Waterloo Park so we could check out the animals, feed the ducks (covertly) and play on one of the playgrounds for a little while.

It was really, really nice.

Today we:

• removed all lightbulbs from one child’s room because he is unable to remember to turn them off and the whole “losing ten cents from the allowance per infraction” thing was totally not working. He has not yet noticed, but I am anxiously awaiting his reaction.
• forbid one child from playing the Wii until after dinner today because he was so busy weeping at the injustice of his brother looking at him he was unable to help clear the table. For the third meal in a row. The removal of allowance money for each infraction was also not working. He was mad but got over it.
• banished one child to his room for a while for a) breaking a rule (twice), b) trying to blame it on his brother, and c) lying.

Indeed, we are a parenting success story over here. But at least we’re entertained.

Always, always entertained.

I know you’re not sitting there a) wanting to buy me things or, b) picturing my now-we-have-kids sex life, but ohmygod, I would really like you to buy this “Delight” for me. Because Fun Factory makes THE BEST TOYS IN THE WORLD as far as I’m concerned and, um, the chances of me saving $200 up and using it for something non-kid-related is pretty much ZERO.

And no, I do not promise photos, pics, gifs or anything else in return.

Well okay, maybe a picture of my happy face AFTER. Howzat?

So I’m still sick – still feeling like a big ol’ ball of death – and I’d like to lie down for a few hours. Nothing fancy – just me, a pair of jammas and a book, maybe?

But I cannot do that because Maymo is running around like the crazy kid he is and I need to be upright and conscious at the right time to go and pick up the other two kids from school.

I am so glad tomorrow is Good Friday and that Coffee will be home and that I can spend the day lying on the bed if I need to – though, of course, I fully expect that I’ll feel JUST FINE once I have reinforcements and CAN actually lie down for a few hours.

That’s how the world works, right?

For the second day in a row, I am feeling so unspeakably barfy that, if we didn’t have kids, I’d totally be back in bed for the day. Lying down and sipping water and, quite possibly, weeping. BLERGH.

I cannot get sick. I do not want to get sick.

(But this is day 2… is it too late to beg for mercy?)

–

The beagle, on the other hand, is a spritely lunatic. The medication we have, for what has now been identified as “osteoarthritis”, is a miracle in pill format.

She’s.. a whole new dog.

Earlier today she ran from the kitchen to the solarium, leaped through the air and onto the futon. That’s a HUGE change from her usual struggle to get up there.

Even the kids are amazed.

–

This morning the tiny tree in front of our house is covered in cedar waxwings. There are at least 10 of them there, bopping around and eating the rancid berries.

Last night, while Oldest One and I were making dinner, we noticed a huge gathering of robins. As we counted – past 20 – we realized they were in all the other trees around our house, too.

Both of us were speechless. Amazing.

Spring is coming. It is!

I am also quite partial to, “Why does math suck so hard?”